


Say It Thrice

by sennawritesthings



Category: The Winner's Trilogy - Marie Rutkoski
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-07-20 11:24:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19991374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sennawritesthings/pseuds/sennawritesthings
Summary: Kestrel has an encounter with the god of death. The problem is she's not dead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i tried something new and i don't entirely hate it.
> 
> also the king = the emperor, i just have it mind that this is set during a victorian/edwardian period so i tried to scale it back a little bit to make it fit better.
> 
> hope you enjoy!! 💕

Kestrel had given up on trying to sleep for the night. She had given up on trying to be in the same house as her father for the night. So when the household was quiet, she slipped out of her room.

It wasn’t every day that Trajan was home, let alone sleeping there overnight. He was the king’s most treasured advisor, and as such he spent all of his time at the palace. He should have lived there—Kestrel too—but Kestrel’s mother hadn’t wanted to live in the palace or raise Kestrel there and Trajan wanted his wife happy. But now that her mother was dead, her father tried his hardest to whisk her away to the palace.

His favorite threat was marriage.

It wasn’t that Kestrel was wholly opposed to it. She simply wasn’t ready to marry and perform the expected duties of wives. She wasn’t sure she would ever be ready.

She jumped, her heart nearly springing from her chest at the thump that came from the narrow street she had been walking past. Her skin pebbled. Fear pooled in her veins, turning her limbs to lead. It was the first time that night that she thought perhaps it wasn’t the best idea for her to be out so late without an escort.

It was the darkness in the alley that kept her from running away, her curiosity getting the better of her. In the midst stood a man, who stared down at a body crumpled on the ground. It didn’t look like the person on the ground was alive…

Bile rose to her throat. Had she just witnessed a murder? She had to find someone to help, but she found that she couldn’t move, entranced by the scene before her.

The man moved and so did the shadows. He leaned down, and stuck his hand inside the corpse’s chest. When he pulled it back out, he held a small, grey shadow. He clucked his tongue. “Ah. You’ve had a hard life, my friend.”

He tucked the shadow into his pocket, the body turning to ash with a flick of his wrist. “Rest easy, now.”

A sharp, involuntary gasp escaped her lips. His head shot up. She knew him. She recognized his light hair and grey eyes from the Herrani legends her nurse used to tell her. He had been born in the year of the god of death, and later traded his life with that same god for the lives of his family.

She jumped back when he appeared in front of her instantly, a frown marring his lips. His brows furrowed.

“You can see me?”

She nodded once, shakily. He lifted a hand as if he wished to stroke her cheek, confusion and fascination alight in his eyes, but he dropped his arm to his side.

“You are not supposed to see me yet, Kestrel. It’s not your time.”

He pulled a chain from his neck. Hanging from it was a vile of powder that he shook into the palm of his hand.

“We will meet again when it is,” he said, blowing the powder into her face.

The earth tilted, darkened. Vanished.

When she woke in her bed the next morning, she didn’t remember what she did the previous day. She didn’t remember how she got home. She did remember one thing.

Kestrel knew she was supposed to have forgotten the god of death. But she hadn’t.


	2. Chapter 2

Perhaps she _had_ been dreaming. It was impossible that the Herran gods truly existed. But a month later, she could still hear the cool tenor of his voice in her ears. She could still feel the god’s cool breath and the dust of powder on her face, the phantom thump of her heart trembling in her chest.

Kestrel knew what she had seen. She couldn’t deny it any longer.

It was that lingering feeling that had taken her to the Athenaeum of Herran, the largest library of Herran that held the largest, and oldest collection of their history. Her father would have throttled her if he had known she had traveled to Herran on her own. Or at all. She had tried Valoria’s own library, but they didn’t believe in Herrani legends. They didn’t believe in anything that wasn’t power and money. And they hated the Herrani for reasons Kestrel didn’t understand. She just assumed it was jealousy that the Herrani were known for their beautiful art and refined ways of living.

Jess and Ronan had wondered at her sudden curiosity in the Herran myths, but she brushed off their disapproval, telling them that she was having trouble sleeping at night and was trying to find something boring enough to put her to bed. Jess laughed. Ronan scandalously offered to personally serenade her. She had heard his voice before. She was certain her ears would bleed off.

She paused mid-step on the front stairs of the athenaeum. She rubbed her palms on her skirts as she marveled at the chiseled columns, the large, intricately carved wooden doors of the entrance, and the few stained glass windows she could see from her vantage point.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled, sending a shudder through her spine. When she turned to see, she found herself being watched by the people coming and going from the athenaeum. She flushed, averting her eyes and tried very hard not to stumble up the last few steps to the entrance.

The moment she set foot in the library, the three archivists bustling in the front stopped in their tracks. One of them dropped the scrolls he held, earning a scowl from the oldest of them.

The old man turned to her as the younger one scrambled to pick up the scrolls and get back to work. “Valorians are not welcome here, child,” he said in Valorian, clearly dismissing her.

Kestrel frowned. “I was just looking for—”

“You?” He scoffed. “Interested in learning our history?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, scrutinizing her head to toe. She then knew that he recognized her, and she could only imagine what she looked like to him. After all, why would the daughter of a known Valorian aristocrat and favorite of the king visit a Herrani establishment? Rather, why would she be in Herran at all? He could only suspect that she was being used to gain their favor so the king could at last make his move to overtake the country.

She understood his suspicion, but she couldn’t help but be offended.

“Yes,” she huffed. “I need—”

“Valorians are not welcome here,” he repeated, turning to follow after the apprentice.

Kestrel couldn’t let him leave. She hadn’t traveled the whole way for nothing. She would leave with some answers. “The god of death,” she blurted in Herrani. The head archivist stopped in his tracks. “The one who bargained with the original god. What does it mean to…” she wouldn’t tell him that she had seen him. She didn’t know how that would turn out. “To dream of him?”

The head archivist stared hard at her. She thought he would turn her away again. If he did, she knew she wouldn’t be able to stay and she would have to find her answers elsewhere. She didn’t know where that would be unless she managed to meet the god of death again. The likelihood of that happening were slim to none. The god seemed to want nothing to do with her.

He had tried to erase her memory of him after all.

Instead, the archivist asked, “How do you know of our gods?”

“I had a Herrani nurse.”

The archivist pursed his lips in distaste, but he continued, “You say you’ve seen the god of death?”

“Dreamed of him.”

After a beat of silence, a beat that made Kestrel believe she would be turned in to the nearest asylum, the archivist sighed. “Follow me.”

***

The archivist—Nas was his name—had taken her to what she believed to be his private quarters, if the cot in the corner of the room said anything. Other than the cot, the only other piece of furniture in the room was the large, round table in the center. It was covered with scrolls and books and loose sleeves of paper. Dry ink spots stained the wood, and she noted one precariously placed ink and quill on the edge of table just near where she sat. It rattled with every movement the archivist forced as he searched through his organized mess.

Finally, afraid the bottle would fall and ruin her dress, she moved it, ignoring the look the old man threw at her.

“Is it unusual, then, to dream of the gods?” she asked.

“Not particularly,” he replied, checking the spines of one of his book stacks.

“But you appeared so surprised!”

He leveled her with a look, but he said nothing in response. Her stomach turned and felt weighted with rocks. Could he see through her lie? Did he figure out that she had truly seen the god of death, and hadn’t simply dreamed him? Perhaps visiting the athenaeum had been a mistake. Perhaps she wouldn’t find her answers there. Perhaps she had somehow been marked by death.

_It’s not your time,_ the god of death had said. There would have been no reason for her to see him. She had to know why.

Kestrel rubbed her palms on her skirts, feigning much interest in the bits of lace that decorated them. “Is it possible to see them when you’re awake?”

The old man raised a brow, pulling a rustic, nearly crumbling book from beneath the table before taking a seat across from her. He began flipping through it. “Have you seen one while you’re awake?”

“No,” she clipped, too quickly. “I’m only curious.”

Nas said nothing as was his habit while he flipped through the book carefully. He would stop on a page and scan its contents for a moment before continuing on. Kestrel was growing weary of his games. She didn’t have much time before she had to return home. He must have sensed this because as soon as she opened her mouth he said, “No one can see the gods while awake, Lady Kestrel. You asked before about the god of death. One would only see him if they’re dead.”

Kestrel tried hard to swallow whatever had lodged in her throat. She couldn’t hide the tremble in her voice as she asked, “And if they’re not dead?”

The archivist set the book down on the table, quickly reading the page. She caught a glimpse of some of the words but he shut it before she could properly make them out, turning his attention to her. “What are you getting at, Lady Kestrel?”

Needing something to do, needing somewhere to look at that wasn’t the old man, she stood and studied his stacks of books. She took a few deep breaths to steady herself. Almost nonchalantly, she said, “Nothing. It’s just my curiosity, as I have said.”

Nas sighed. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, and I don’t know if I can help you, truly. The gods… are rather complicated beings.”

Kestrel was beginning to think that perhaps he couldn’t. She would be forced to turn to the deity himself, and she couldn’t think of a way to find him unless she died.

She didn’t want to die.

He traced a finger along the edge of the decrepit book in front of him, hovering protectively over it as she crossed the room to sit back down. “You asked if it was unusual to dream of the gods. It isn’t. The gods often visit people in their dreams to warn them or to guide them.”

Kestrel shuddered at the thought of being warned of her or anyone else’s death.

“But the god of death rarely, if ever, appears in dreams.”

“Why is that?”

Nas leaned back in his chair. “The god of death is a solitary deity. It is his job to travel the earth and bring peace to the dead.” Once again, he traced a finger along the edge of the book, then seemed to catch himself and stopped, dropping his arm to the chair. “People die every day, every hour, every minute. He doesn’t have the time to dally with mortals.”

Hearing that made Kestrel’s heart ache. She knew what it was like to be lonely. She was lonely all the time, even surrounded by her friends. The story said the god was just ten when he made the bargain with the old god. What must it have been like to be alone for centuries? Was is it so lonely that the old god readily agreed to a bargain with a child to escape from it?

“Lady Kestrel?”

The archivist’s voice snapped her from her reverie. She glanced outside the singular window in the room. She would have to leave soon if she wished to make it home before her father returned for supper and found her missing.

“How do you know this? Are they not just stories?”

“The gods exist, Lady Kestrel. We have their histories here. We pass them down as they have been given to us by the god themselves,” he answered with a frown. She could see the disappointment in his eyes. She hadn’t noticed the hope he had for her belief in the gods until it was gone.

“But is it possible to see them outside of dreaming?”

He shook his head. “It was, once. The gods decided interacting with mortals caused more harm than good. So they stopped.”

Before Kestrel could ask another question, the young apprentice charged into the room. He frantically waved his arms in the air, screeching about a binding and something ripping. She could barely understand him, but the old man did and he scrambled from his chair. She didn’t miss the nudge he gave to hide the rustic book beneath a pile of scrolls.

“A moment, please,” he said to her over his shoulder as he charged after the apprentice, leaving Kestrel alone in the room.

She counted a minute under her breath, then leapt from her chair to reach for the book. She flipped through it quickly, scanning for anything she might deem important, but it was written in a language she didn’t understand. She recognized some words and what looked like names, but most of the book had been written in what she assumed was an older form of Herrani. She would need time to translate it.

Kestrel heard footsteps in the hall. Quickly, she slipped the book under her arm, making sure the cloak she wore covered her. She grabbed another book that looked similar and set it carefully in place. She rushed back to her seat. As Nas entered the room, she made a show of glancing out the window and leaping out of her seat.

“Oh! I have to go,” she exclaimed, bounding for the door. The archivist stepped to the side to let her pass. “My father will not be pleased if I’m not home when he returns.”

He frowned. “Does he...”

Kestrel flushed at his implications. “No,” she said. It was the truth, but he looked like he didn’t believe her. “No, he would need to be home for that.”

The old man seemed to approve of her explanation, making his way toward the table. Her heart thundered in her chest. She hoped she would have time to escape before he noticed the book was missing.

“I will return when I have more time. I would like to hear more about your gods.”

“Did you need help with anything else?” He shifted through some papers. It was obvious he was glad to be rid of her. And here she thought she had made a friend in him with her curiosity.

Kestrel thought for a moment. “Is there a way to summon the god of death without dying?”

“No.”

“Can you summon the gods at all?”

“No.”

“Does he have a name? Do any of them have names?”

Nas glanced at her with a raised brow. She didn’t miss the way his eyes shifted to peek at the book hidden beneath the scrolls, or the way his voice lowered, sharpened. “No.”

Kestrel nodded, curtsying slightly to him. “Thank you.”

Then she hurried out of the library with the book safely tucked beneath her cloak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ps nas is an oc lol


	3. Chapter 3

It had taken Kestrel only a week to translate the book. She was surprised to find that it was written in a mixture of Valorian and Herrani, and it made her wonder what happened that the languages were separated. It made her wonder why there was such animosity between the two since even before the war, but the book didn’t have an answer for those questions. The book didn’t have an answer for why she had seen the god when no one else could or should.

The book did, however, have the stories of the gods in them. Stories that were very different from the ones Enai used to tell her. It told of the gods’ lives when they lived on earth with humans until the humans became lazy and wanted the gods to do their work. It told of the power war between the gods. It told of the relationships between the gods and the relationships they had with mortals. When a child between the god of souls and a human was born, it was forbidden for the gods and mortals to fall in love. The human was made immortal and taken to live with the gods. They were forced to abandon their child and forbidden to return to earth. No one knew what became of the child.

The archivist had lied to her. The gods did have names, but it was forbidden to use them. They were not meant to be known. Perhaps that was why Nas was so protective of the book. She held information that could change the very construct of their lives. If it got into the king’s hands… She made sure to hide the book well during the day, when the household was alive. She only ever pulled it out at night and read with the help of a single candle.

Kestrel took her time reading the book, learning the ways of the gods, committing their names to her memory. She spent most of her time reading about the god of death.

As the archivist told her, the god of death was a solitary deity. He didn’t mingle with the other gods, nor did he with the mortals unless they were dead. But before, when the gods still lived on earth, he was the most social of them all. Like the god of souls, he too had fallen in love with a mortal, but he never acted on his feelings.

The god of death wasn’t like the other gods. They could be touched, but he couldn’t. Touching the god of death meant being marked by the god of death. To be marked by him was to call for an early, horribly tragic death.

Again, Kestrel’s heart ached at the knowledge of the god’s loneliness.

The god of death was the only god with an addendum. It held the story that she knew, the one about the boy who bargained his life for those of his family’s. His name was Arin.

During that time, a plague struck the earth. Arin survived, but his family didn’t. In his grief, he cried for the god of death, cursing him. The god appeared to him, ready to strike the boy down for cursing him, but then pitied him.

If anyone knew about loneliness, it was the god of death.

Arin begged for his family back, but there was a catch. For every life given, another life must be taken. He didn’t want anyone else to die. Not for him.

_“How much does your life cost?” Arin asked the god._

_The god laughed._

_“I know the stories,” he continued. “I know you wish to be among the people.”_

_The god did not laugh anymore._

_“I will take your place if you give me my family.”_

_The god shook his head. “You do not know what you are asking, boy. True, they will be given their lives, but you will not be able to see them. They will be immortal,_ you _will be immortal, but they will not remember you, and you will be alone.”_

_This did not deter the boy. “I do not care. I am happy knowing they live.”_

The god made Arin undergo a trial, but it wasn’t specified what he had to do. Once done, they made the trade. The old god took up the body of a man who died during the plague that took the boy’s family. The boy went on to be the god of death, aging until he reached maturity.

Kestrel didn’t realize she was crying until she sniffed and found her nose stuffed. She didn’t know why she felt for the god so much, but she did. She wondered what he was like when he was happy.

She wanted to be his friend, even if she would be punished by the gods.


	4. Chapter 4

Sneaking out to visit graveyards in search of a god turned out to be harder than Kestrel thought. Surely to meet with the god of death, all she had to do was walk through a graveyard, where death reigned. But she had visited the three graveyards in the city for two weeks straight, and the god of death was nowhere to be seen.

Could he have known she was seeking him out and avoiding the places he knew she would be? Kestrel didn’t know. The book helped her, but it could only tell her so much. Wherever the god went, the book was useless in telling her that.

Perhaps dying truly was the only way she would be able to see him again…

Kestrel sat on the steps of a mausoleum with her chin in her hands. She was most definitely brooding. She was beginning to think that she had truly dreamed the encounter, and was doing nothing more than chase ghosts. She couldn’t continue on. Someday, she would be caught and she wasn’t quite sure what her father would do. Marry her off so he wouldn’t have to deal with her perhaps. Ronan had already asked his permission to court her. Marriage was the last thing she wanted to do.

She sighed, mentally cursing the god of death.

She felt as if she had been struck by lightning. She remembered Arin had cursed the god of death and the god appeared before him, ready to implement his punishment for speaking wrongly about a god. She just hoped Arin wouldn’t strike her first before asking questions.

“Damn the god of death!” she shouted to no one but the dead. Her voice seemed to echo. Hopefully, no one would hear her and come running to check on the ruckus. “Damn him! I curse his very name!”

When he didn’t show, Kestrel heaved another sigh as she stood. She dusted her skirts as best as she could, but there was nothing to do about the stains she had collected on them. She would have to hide them with the others and wash them herself when she had a chance.

But as she turned to leave, the space around the mausoleum darkened, encasing her in pitch black so that she couldn’t see the graveyard anymore. Then Arin appeared in front of her, and Kestrel’s breath caught. She didn’t remember him being so beautiful.

“You would dare curse a god?” Arin bellowed.

He stopped short when he registered who he stood before. Like the first time, he lifted a hand as if he wished to stroke her cheek, confusion and fascination dancing in his eyes. “You…” He dropped his hand. “You remember me?”


	5. Chapter 5

They stared at each other in silence. Kestrel had sat back down on the steps on the mausoleum. Arin had taken up a spot near a tree, a little ways away from her. The shadows surrounding him flickered in and out, swayed back and forth, she couldn’t keep her eyes from them. She couldn’t tell if they were separate from Arin or if they were an extension of him.

“How is it that you remember?” He asked, the question laced with wonder and a hint of annoyance.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Arin raised a brow. “Why would I know this?”

Kestrel shrugged. “You are a god. You used your magic on me. It didn’t work. You should know why.”

His eyes flashed. The shadows did too. She almost smiled. She would have smiled had it not been for the expression on his face. She had to remember that whoever he was, he was still the god of death. He was still a god. He had to abide by that. Part of her should have been afraid. He could smite her at any moment. She had cursed him after all. But she wasn’t afraid, and she didn’t care.

She hadn’t meant to ask him about anything that didn’t have to do with her, but the words were tumbling from her mouth before she could catch herself. “Why did you do it? Why did you make the bargain when you can’t even see your family—when you’re left alone?”

The shadows grew, threatening to fill her vision again. He was standing in front of her, staring down at her with a hardened gaze that told every one of her instincts to run.

“I just want to be your friend.” She said softly, wishing desperately she could reach for his hand.

For a moment, the dark shadows that surrounded him faded into nothing. His grey eyes softened. His cheeks pinked and the corners of his mouth twitched. For a moment, he wasn’t the god of death. He was Arin, a lonely, lonely boy who wanted a friend too.

But then his gaze hardened again, the shadows returned. The god of death shook his head. “No,” he said. The one word rattled her bones. “Do not play with the gods, Kestrel. Do not seek me out again. This is a warning. Next time, I _will_ have to fulfill my duty.”

He pulled the vial from his neck, dusted the powder on his palms, and blew it into Kestrel’s face before she could even blink.

The next morning, Kestrel woke in her bed once more to find that she hadn’t forgotten the god of death. He had accused her of playing with the gods. Fine. The game was set. She would find him again. She would get answers from him. She would be his friend.

Her father had the power to do anything he wanted with a simple word to the king. She was her father’s daughter and the gods would do the same for her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the amount of times i've written and rewritten this chapter 🤦🏼♀️ but i hope you enjoy it 💕
> 
> (sorry it's short! 😩)

God hunting had become increasingly difficult when, under her father’s order, Kestrel was to be monitored after she had been found sleeping at the gate. She hadn’t been able to tell him how she ended up there. She couldn’t tell him. Not entirely, because she only knew one thing for certain.

When it came to him, the god of death’s tricks didn’t work on her. She remembered him. She remembered how he almost smiled when she had told him she wanted to be his friend, how he almost looked relieved and happy. But she remembered nothing more, much like the first time she had met him.

With her father’s orders in place, guards were hired to walk the grounds at night, and some to follow Kestrel wherever she went. She knew her father had spoken with her friends to keep an eye on her when Jess and Ronan started to visit her more often—Jess finding excuses to stay longer so she could stay the night if Ronan wasn’t present to escort her home.

So Kestrel bided her time wisely. She studied the routines of the guards, noting their stations, when they switched with another guard, how far off they went during their patrol. She made friends with them, learned their names and about their families if they had any. More importantly, she learned which sections of the grounds each of them was particular to roaming.

On outings, she eavesdropped on the gossip of her friends. If they thought it odd that she took part in it where previously she wouldn’t, they said nothing. If she was brave enough, she would ask if anyone had died recently, hoping to learn exactly where she might find the god of death. She only slightly feared that her curiosity would reach her father’s ears, but she found that she didn’t entirely care. If her father sent her away to an asylum, better for her. Perhaps then she would be able to forget the god of death. If he married her off, perhaps she would be too busy with her wifely duties to even think about him.

As it was, she was still free and unmarried, and at last it seemed as if the god of chance had smiled upon her. Some six weeks after her last encounter with Arin, a friend of Jess’s family had fallen ill and died in a town along the Valoria-Herran border. Kestrel was to travel with them to support Jess. At least that’s how Kestrel managed to convince her friends and father into letting her go with them. Her father had wanted to send the guards with them, but she convinced him of leaving them behind when she reminded him that she wouldn’t be alone.

She was alone.

There hadn’t been room for her with Jess and her family staying with their friend, so Kestrel had had to stay at a nearby inn. The god of chance truly was smiling upon her.

Until he wasn’t.

The next night, when the funeral ended and the town settled into silence, Kestrel snuck out of the inn through the window, not wanting to alarm the busybody of a keeper of her comings and goings. It was a small town to say the least, no doubt that the gossip would spread before she even woke the next morning and her friends’ parents would alert her father. She had to be quick and quiet.

She stuck to the shadows of the night, her cloak pulled high to cover her light hair. The people were mostly asleep, and if they weren’t, they were drunk, but she still took precaution despite it turning out for naught. For when she reached the graveyard, there was no trace of the god of death. She waited and waited, but he didn’t show.

When she turned back that she saw some of the shadows shrinking back and become less opaque. It was then that she realized that Arin _had_ been there. And he had completely avoided her.

She stomped back to the inn, not even caring at how hard she shut the window closed. Her sour mood trailed her all the way back home, much like certain tendrils of shadows she could barely make out from the corner of her eyes.

It was only when she was in the confines of her own room, when she was through with tossing and turning in her anger, when she had pulled the shades over her window and locked her door, barricading it with a chair that she uttered the words, “Thrice damned god of death.”


	7. Chapter 7

Arin materialized before her, his gray eyes blazing with rage. She imagined seeing them soften at the sight of her before him, and when she blinked the vision was gone, replaced by glare cutting into her skin. She leveled him with one of her own.

“Did I not warn you of what would happen should you curse me again?”

She lifted her chin defiantly, shrugging. “You avoided me.”

She imagined seeing his cheek twitch in amusement, but when she stepped closer to him he scowled down at her, pulling the familiar vial from his neck.

“The dosage will have to be tripled,” he muttered more to himself than to Kestrel. It explained why she hadn’t made it to her bed that night, though. It appeared that the magic could only last for so long the more that was used. Still, that didn’t feel right to her.

She reached for him to stop him. Arin reared back, nearly dropping the vial to the floor.

“You know it doesn’t work on me, so don’t waste it.”

The god of death paused. He tilted his head as he studied her. Kestrel felt her cheeks warm under his scrutiny. She rubbed her hands on her skirts, the movement catching the god’s eye. She had to have imagined his own skin pink. He righted himself quickly, averting his gaze elsewhere as if bored by their exchange.

He cleared his throat. Dully, he asked, “Yes… Why is that?”

Her anger from the previous night rushed back to her, and she gripped her skirts in her clenched fists. She felt her eyes water, but she blinked her tears away. It occurred to her then that she wasn’t angry with the god of death. She was hurt. She had offered him friendship, and he had rejected it. She didn’t know why it was so important to her to gain _something_ from him, be it his friendship, his approval, or even a smile.

If he didn’t want to be her friend…

There was nothing she could do. She could damn him every hour of every day, and while he hadn’t fulfilled his duty thus far, he _would_. Though perhaps it wouldn’t be him. One could only test the gods so far before they came to collect. She didn’t want to think about what would happen to her or to Arin if he continued to let it pass.

Kestrel collected herself, relaxing her hands as she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. A part of her was angry with him, though. She felt it once more when it appeared he would try to use his magic on her again, but she swallowed it down and became every inch the lady her father expected her to be.

“If you would stop avoiding me, then you would know that I wished to ask _you_ that again and this time receive an answer,” she all but spat at him.

Arin’s eyes found hers. She steeled herself against the shudder that threatened to overtake her at the confusion, annoyance, interest… and perhaps… perhaps some joy that flickered in his eyes, on his face. He enjoyed her company, it seemed. He enjoyed not being alone.

“I cannot help you,” he said, softly. Before she could protest, he added, “I do not have an answer for you, Kestrel. I know that you are the first mortal I have ever known in my life as a god to be immune to the magic.”

She frowned. “Surely you must know something.”

“I do not know,” he repeated firmly. The shadows in her room, the ones that stuck to him closely darkened and grew.

“And the other gods? Would they know?” To Kestrel’s knowledge, the god of death was the only god that was left to walk among mortals. But could she not find a way to summon another god? A way that didn’t involve cursing them?

Arin’s eyes narrowed, darkened as if he could read her thoughts. “I have warned you before, Kestrel. Do _not_ play with the gods. It will not end well for you.”

Before she could stop herself, she asked, “What about for you?”

One of his brows rose. “Me?”

“Last time… You told me you would have to punish me for cursing you, but you haven’t done so.”

“Yet.”

Her breath caught. Her heart stopped. Her blood ran cold. At last, he had decided to collect his due. She was both curious about how it would feel—what would happen to her—and afraid. She hadn’t been able to say goodbye to her father, to Jess and Ronan.

If Kestrel hadn’t been watching him, hadn’t been waiting for his strike, she would have missed the slight, slight life of his lips. She would have missed the small crinkles at the corners of his eyes. She wouldn’t have heard the soft huff of a breath that sounded akin to a chuckle.

He was teasing her.

She briefly pondered cursing him again now that he was in front of her. Instead, she crossed the room to sit on the edge of her bed, catching her breath and letting her heart restart. She shut her eyes, inhaled and exhaled. When she opened them again, the god’s brows were furrowed, his lips downturned in concern. But like before, he quickly schooled his features into boredom, briefly glancing down at her crossed ankles and looking away just as quickly as he had looked.

Kestrel cleared her throat, her cheeks warming as she brought her legs closer to tug down her skirts. She realized just then how intimate the bedroom truly was, and how inappropriate their meeting was, despite him being a god with rules not to mingle with mortals.

“I would assume, since you don’t have an answer as to the why the magic doesn’t work, that you don’t have an answer for why I can see you when I’m not dead?”

“Your assumption is correct.”

They sat in silence for some time after that. Kestrel didn’t quite know what to ask. She didn’t think he would answer questions about his past life, and he didn’t have the answers to the questions she yearned to know. She watched him closely. She watched the flickering shadows that sung to him even closer, fascinated by them as she had been before. Arin’s gaze flit about the room, as if he were studying every nook and cranny. Or perhaps to avoid looking at her sitting on the bed. She should have sat in the chair.

Finally, when his examination was over, his eyes met hers. “Well, if we are done… Heed my warnings, Kestrel.”

The shadows grew and grew, until half her room was shrouded in darkness. She knew it was only a matter of time before he was gone.

“I still would like to be your friend,” she murmured. She knew Arin had heard her when the shadows stuttered and he looked her with wide eyes. “I _am_ your friend.”

“No,” he said. The shadows covered him until even she couldn’t see him. “We are not.”

And then he was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

It had been a dream.

It was what Kestrel said to herself at night when she felt the pull to search for him. It was what she said to herself during the day, when her thoughts drifted to him, when she caught herself listening in on gossip to hear news of deaths. _She had been dreaming._ She conjured up fantasies because she missed her old nurse, because she missed her mother, not because being rejected by a god wounded her pride more than she wanted to admit.

She had to remind herself that she was Valorian, and the gods simply didn’t exist. She needed to put away the silly stories of Herrani gods. She needed to forget the god of death she had imagined.

_The gods don’t exist_ , she told herself as pulled her covers over her head to ignore the shadows that danced in the corner of her room, asking a silent question that she wouldn’t answer because she was imagining things. She was going mad. When she opened her eyes, when she pulled the covers away, nothing would be there.

_The gods don’t exist_ , she told herself as she felt something lurking in her room, curling herself into her fabric shield. She could ignore it. She could ignore the pull. She could ignore him. He wasn’t real.

Still, Kestrel jumped from her bed, her room lighter than it had been when she had first lain down. She lit her lanterns and a few extra candles, placing them just right so her room was well lit, not a single shadow in sight.

She slept with them burning.

***

For the next two months, Kestrel filled her time with proper Valorian customs. Specifically those of the nobility.

She entertained her father’s choices of suitors, not surprised when Ronan was one of them. She had been surprised when the prince was one of them. If her father thought she couldn’t see that he was using her as a pawn for more power, he was mistaken. She saw it clearly. As clearly as she could see the king using her father as a pawn to win over those who were loyal to Trajan rather than their king. As clearly as the shadows that now seemed to trail her wherever she went.

Shadows she pointedly ignored.

She accepted every one of the invitations Jess and her other friends sent for tea or parties. She took turns with Jess, staying over each other’s homes. Though she truly had no intention of being an idle housewife in the far future, she busied herself learning wifely duties. She paid for piano lessons to the dismay of her father.

She did all she could to push a certain god from her mind. She went as far as pulling up one of her floorboards to hide the book she had stolen and resealed it completely, as if she hadn’t even touched the floor at all.

_The gods don’t exist._

But one night, just as she was returning home from attending court, she stopped short in the doorway of her room, dropping her gloves to the floor. She nearly screamed. Her heart thundered in her chest.

Kestrel stepped in tentatively, nearly laughing at the thought of her entering _her_ own room as if _she_ were the stranger, shutting the door behind her softly. She bolted it shut. Sitting in the chair she had once used to hide in her room to summon him was the god of death himself.

Arin smiled softly. His grey eyes swept over her before meeting her gaze, suspicious. Questioning. And perhaps, she was imaging, longing. “Hello, Kestrel.”

Kestrel had had one too many glasses of wine.

***

“I’m not dead,” she said, leaning against the door. It wasn’t at all what she wanted to say, but she never managed to say the things she wanted to when it came to him. Theirs was a play with words that each of them somehow understood. Their own language.

The god’s face twitched, and she knew he was biting back a laugh. She wished he hadn’t. “No, you are not.”

She scowled, spewing, “Then why are you here? You made it clear that we are not friends.”

“No,” he sighed. “We are not.”

Kestrel wished _she_ was the god. She would smite him where he sat. If she had known interacting with a god would be so infuriating, if she had known that she wouldn’t get the answers she wanted from him or anyone else, she would have left it all alone. But she had always had a curious mind, and she strived to understand the things that she didn’t at firsthand.

_The gods don’t exist_ , she told herself, even as one so very clearly sat in her room. She was drunk. All she needed was a good night’s sleep, and her life would return to normal. So she didn’t bother with changing into her night clothes. She simply kicked off her shoes, ignored the sharp, scandalized inhale of the figment of her imagination as she removed her stockings, and dove under her covers. She pulled them over her head, shutting her eyes tightly until white dots speckled her vision.

“Are you ignoring me?” The god asked incredulously.

“You’re not real.”

She felt a gentle caress at the top of her head. It was as soft as the delicate kiss of a butterfly walking along the skin. A shy, uncertain touch. The cover was their only barrier. If she pushed the covers away, he would touch her. She would be marked by him. Part of her wondered if it was all bad.

When he spoke, his voice low in her ear, her skin pebbled. “I am real, Kestrel. Just as real as you are.”

“The gods don’t exist.”

Arin snorted, and Kestrel wished she wasn’t hiding beneath the covers. They were silent for a beat. She could feel him beside her, cool even through the blanket. She could feel his hand massage her head lightly. The fight she had in her, the anger she held toward him left her, leaving only her pain at his rejection.

“You said we’re not friends,” she reminded him. Her cheeks warmed at the unsteadiness of her voice. His hand froze. Again—softly, almost not speaking at all—she asked, “Why are you here?”

His hand left her, but she could still feel him beside her.

“I do not know.”

Silence fell upon them once more, his answer hanging in the air between them. Kestrel knew the god had gone when her body warmed enough that she had to kick the covers away.

Sleeping hadn’t come easy to her that night.

***

Things had been different after that night.

Kestrel was no longer chasing the god of death. Instead, he was chasing her. She saw him in dark shadowy corners of places she visited, vanishing only when her friends asked what she could possibly be staring at. He came to her in her room at night, after she had changed into her nightclothes and hid under the covers. His cool presence sitting beside her. Always beside her.

Most nights, they didn’t say a word to each other. When they did speak, she would ask him why he was there, and always his answer would be the same. _I do not know_. They would fall into silence until Arin would ask her about her music that was slowly coming along with her lessons, or about her role at court, about her.

In turn, she would ask about him, and he would direct the conversation back to her if he didn’t want to answer. On some occasion, he would leave so Kestrel wouldn’t ask him again.

It had been gradual, but she had taken to leaving her head uncovered at night. Arin would move her chair beside her bed and sit in it, but it would be in its place she woke in the morning. She would keep her back to him, but, once, she twisted until she faced him. His brows rose in question, but his eyes were soft, almost happy. Until she opened her mouth.

“What did you have to do? For your trial?”

She didn’t think he would answer. He had stiffened, and his gaze had drifted to stare at nothing. She thought he would leave. But then he turned his attention to her. He was still far away, in a place she couldn’t reach. She regretted asking.

“Things you should not concern yourself with. I fear you would not like me very much if I shared them with you.”

For a moment, Kestrel wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter. She wanted to tell him that she had liked his story the best, liked _him_ , from the moment she knew of his existence. That in him, she had found a kindred spirit, that she knew he would understand her ever present loneliness. But she kept it to herself and instead said, “I _am_ your friend.”

Arin smiled, and her heart split her chest open. She found herself returning his smile.

“Yes. I suppose you are.”

***

One night, Arin had observed her as she played Bite and Sting against her friends at court, defeating them at every round, and when she returned home, he wanted her to teach him to play. The game hadn’t been invented when he was mortal, and though he knew of its existence, he couldn’t indulge in it.

“Shouldn’t you be collecting souls?” Kestrel teased as she set up the game. “I didn’t know gods had so much time on their hands.”

“We do not,” he answered coolly, mischief twinkling in his grey eyes when her hand faltered as she dealt him his tiles. She could feel a blush rising to her cheeks. Clearing her throat, she explained the rules to him.

When she was finished, she leveled him with a suspicious glare. “I don’t believe it should have to be said, but I will say it anyway. You are not to use your powers to cheat.”

The god grinned. He did it more often, and she wondered if she would ever get used to seeing it or to hearing him laugh. She wondered if the flutter that tickled her low in her belly would ever leave. He was a god. She was a mortal. They were friends, and even just that was taboo.

“I do not need to use my powers to win, Little Fists. I am above that.”

The first time Arin won, Kestrel had allowed herself to believe that the god of chance had sided with the god of death in a stroke of beginner’s luck. It was after the fourth time he had won that Kestrel grew suspicious.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re cheating!”

“I am not.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, still glowering at him. “You lied, then. You _have_ played before.”

Arin shook his head, his cheeks twitching with the laugh that she knew was rushing to the surface. But then he froze, rearing back. His brows furrowed. His grey eyes growing distant as he studied the space just above her. He leaned across the small side table they were using, reaching for something she couldn’t see.

Kestrel gasped lightly when she felt something brush against her, deep, deep inside of her soul. Like she was being pulled away and set in place all at once. It… hurt. She whimpered softly. The feeling subsided when Arin pulled away, dropping to his seat once more.

“What—”

He blinked rapidly to shake his stupor from himself. He dropped his gaze to hers, tilting his head. His voice was laced with wonder when he said, “I do not know how I did not notice it before.”

It took her a moment to collect herself. To shake the feeling of being pulled in two. “What?”

“You have gods blood in you.”


	9. Chapter 9

It had become a regular routine for Kestrel to join Arin while he worked. He didn’t particularly like it, and he often tried to keep her from following along with him, but she didn’t let that deter her. She liked to watch him work.She liked to hear him talk or sing to the dead as if they were the best of friends. It reminded her of the nights he would sing her to sleep. She liked to watch the muscles in his back and arms move.

She liked to see his face light up for a brief period of time as he helped the lost find their way.

It was while Arin was working that he dropped his guard the most. It was while he was working that she was able to learn more about him. He would tell her about his family, how his sister used to bully him, but hurt anyone that tried to hurt him. She could hear his longing for them as he spoke. It chipped away at her like a woodpecker pecks at a tree. Guilt curled into her chest, settling like a weight in her belly.

It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t see them, that he couldn’t even know where they were. It wasn’t fair that she had a semi-absent father and shallow friends to fill her life, to leave her lonely, while Arin had a loving family somewhere. She wished she could give him back to them.

She tucked the idea close to her heart for later.

Some nights, he would tell her more Herrani stories that her nurse had never shared with her. He would tell her about the gods he had met, what they were like. One in particular—the god of beauty—liked to tease him for being the youngest of them. Though his voice was full of contempt when Arin spoke of the god, she knew that he cherished him greatly from the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of the god.

On occasion, they worked to find information on what it meant for Kestrel to have gods blood in her. Arin hadn’t ever met someone like her, and since he had been given the knowledge of the previous god of death upon the change, he knew that he had never encountered anyone either.

Kestrel had suggested Arin sneak into the athenaeum as she had, but he refused. It was guarded so that he couldn’t enter. It was the one place he and the other gods were not allowed. And she couldn’t go because she had already stolen a book, a fact that had Arin frowning at her in disappointment.

“You didn’t make it very easy, you know,” she chided.

The corner of his mouth curled. “It was not supposed to be easy, Kestrel. We are not supposed to be friends.”

“But we are.”

A full grin broke onto his face, and she marveled at how the sun could be shrouded in such darkness. “Yes. Always.”

_Always._

Together they concluded, Kestrel having gods blood meant that she had to have been descended from a god and that it must be why she could see Arin when others could not. Why his powder didn’t work on her.

And then she remembered.

“The god of souls.”

Arin’s gaze had shifted to her questioningly as he flicked his wrist to turn a corpse to ash.

“The god of souls,” she said again. “He had a mortal lover, and she—”

“Had their child,” Arin continued, his mind far away. “No one, not even the gods, knew what became of the child.” He paused, studying her with a tilt of his head. “It is quite possible you are descended from him.” His cheeks pinked as he smiled shyly. She felt her own cheeks go warm. “It… fits.”

But he had turned away from her to move on to the next body before she could ask what he meant.

***

It was while she watched Arin move about the Herrani graveyard one night, that Kestrel thought of something she had read in the book she had stolen from the Herrani archivists. She had been thinking about how she could find a way to reunite Arin with his family, which in turn lead her to think about the god of souls. Her mind had spiraled from there.

She had learned from Arin that the gods were oddly specific, even when they weren’t. Much like how easily she and Arin had learned to read each other, to read between the lines of what each of them said, the gods did too.

Kestrel had also learned, from simple observation, that three was a special number to the gods. There were always three rules in the stories for each god. Three trials. Three, three, three. She had to wonder if it applied to anything else.

She couldn’t ask anyone about it. She most certainly wasn’t going to ask _Arin_ about what she thought. She knew he likely wouldn’t answer because he couldn’t answer. Just as he couldn’t answer when she had asked about his name and why using them was forbidden. The Valorian archivists, like the rest of the population, didn’t believe in Herrani legends. Her nurse was dead, and it wasn’t like she could go back to the athenaeum.

The only way of her knowing was simply to do.

“Arin,” she sighed, his name easily spilling from her tongue as if she had been born speaking Herrani instead of Valorian.

The god of death froze, his hand hovering just above the chest of one of the corpses. His soft, grey gaze raised to meet hers. Joy sparked in his eyes and the corners of his mouth lifted into a grin. Pink tinted his cheeks. Her heart stuttered. But as her word sunk in, his smile fell. He sucked in his cheeks, his face paling.

“Where did you learn that?” He asked her softly, coolly.

“Arin,” she said again, ignoring him.

Arin reached for her, his hand stopping just a hair’s breadth away from her face. He pulled back, shaking his head. “Stop this, Kestrel. Do not say it again.”

And there was her answer.

Kestrel now knew what it meant to say the name of a god. The scattered bits of knowledge came together in her mind, and she scolded herself for not seeing it sooner.

Their names had power, and that was why they were wiped away, why they went by their titles instead.To take the place of a god, all one needed to do was say their true name in their presence thrice. It was simple, and that made it dangerous.

Anyone could become a god.

So the gods forbade it, and the knowledge was wiped from the memory of the Herrani who believed in them. There was no doubt that the books of their history were destroyed and rewritten. The only exception was the book she had stolen, but there was a flaw with the addendum because it was added after the gods rewrote their history and left the earth. She wondered if someone like her—a mortal with gods blood, someone who was immune to the gods’ magic, someone who could see the gods—had written the addendum.

She wondered if Nas was one of them. It would explain why he had been so protective of the book. He knew the truth, and perhaps someone else out there did too.

She understood that Arin had lied to her when she had asked about his bargain. That he hadn’t looked away from her because he was ashamed or frightened. He had been thinking about a lie, something he could tell her that she would not ask for more.

In truth, there hadn’t been a trial because there hadn’t been a need for one. Not when the god of death could have given Arin his name to say.

He was going to disappear. She saw it in the way he turned, the darkness that surrounded him growing darker, but it stuttered and faded. Arin couldn’t leave until he had collected the dead. He turned to her, his eyes wide and wild, pleading with her even when his mouth didn’t. She nearly locked her jaw shut. But Arin had been alone for centuries. He had taken up the duty of a god for his family’s lives, and it didn’t matter because he wasn’t allowed to see them anyway.

She wanted to give him back to his family. She wanted the smiles he shared with her to always, always remain on his face. She wanted him to be happy. Arin would get to be immortal with his family. She at least had an absent father and friends who only cared about her status. She was certain she wouldn’t be missed.

Arin’s hand flew to the vial of powder he kept around his neck—the one he had used to try to make Kestrel forget him. It would be futile, they both knew. It didn’t work on her, but she knew he was desperate to stop her. But he wasn’t as desperate as she was.

Kestrel reached for his hand, her fingers brushing his skin as she ripped the chain from his neck just before snaking her arms around him. She tilted her head back, smiling up at his horror as she tightened her hold on him. “Arin.”

The world around them came to a screeching halt, pausing Arin mid-cry. It darkened, the colors of life leeching to grey. She could feel a pull in her body, that made her wonder if she would float should she release her hold on Arin. It felt very much like the one in her room when Arin had first noticed her gods blood. She knew she didn’t have much time before the switch was done and she wouldn’t be able to touch him without marking him.

From one of her hidden pockets, she pulled a piece of paper with his family’s address written on it. She had found them after weeks of searching and was surprised to find that they lived in one of the small towns of Valoria rather than in Herran. She pressed the paper into his palm, forcing his fingers closed to fist his hand. Then she tipped on her toes to press a light kiss to his lips.

“You were right,” she spoke rapidly against his lips. Her tether to the earth was fading quickly, she was being pulled more harshly now. “We’re not friends. We couldn’t be."

Kestrel screamed as she was ripped away from the only world she knew.

***

It seemed as though a decade had passed between the time she had uttered Arin’s name for a third time and the time she returned to earth, but when her eyes opened she was standing in the place Arin had been. Around her she could see beacons of various shades of colored light stemming from the dead and the living alike.

Arin lay before her, just coming to. He groaned. His eyes fluttered open slowly. He scrambled up, swaying. She reached out to help steady him before remembering that she could no longer touch him. He turned to her.

“No,” he murmured in disbelief. “No, no, no.”

She tipped her head to the hand the held the paper. “You have your family’s address. It’s time you returned to them.”

He looked briefly at the scrap, then turned his attention back to her. He shook his head. “No,” he said, defiantly. “Kestrel.”

And she knew exactly what he was trying to do. Kestrel still had the chain in her hand from when she had taken it from Arin. She opened the vial, dusting the powder on her palms.

“Kestrel,” Arin said again, begging. He reached for her.

“Perhaps we’ll meet again one day,” she said, smiling sadly at him.

“Kes-”

She blew the powder in his face. Arin blinked, his eyes glazing. His body slacked only slightly. He stared dazedly at nothing.

“Go home, Arin.”

She watched as Arin turned on his heel and walked away from her, knowing that he would find his way home somehow. Knowing that when he did, he would go to sleep, wake up the next morning, and not remember anything about her or his life before then.

When he was out of her sight, she turned to the task at hand—finishing the collection of the dead. She reached down to stick her hand into a body’s chest as she had seen Arin do numerous times. Her fingers brushed something silky, and she stroked it gently to coax it into her grasp. She pulled the light from the chest, tucked it into her pocket and moved on to the next.

She felt her cheeks dampen, but she didn’t wipe her tears away. Though she should have felt guilty for leaving her father and friends without notice, though Arin had forgotten her and her heart bled for him, Kestrel didn’t regret trading her life for his.


	10. Chapter 10

2 Years Later

_Arin_ , a voice called to him. The sound of his name on her tongue sent a tendril of fear and pleasure through his body. He tried to warn her, but part of him wanted to hear her say his name again. It had been so long…

_Arin_ , the voice said again, and he knew he had to stop her from saying it one last time.

“Arin.”

His body shook gently, a hand brushing the hair from his sweaty forehead. When Arin opened his eyes, he found his mother leaning over him, a frown marring her face. Her eyebrows wrinkled together. For a brief moment, he was confused.

“Shh, Arin,” she cooed as she once had when he was a child and he couldn’t sleep. It was only when she touched the back of her hand to his head and his cheeks, checking for fever that he noticed he hadn’t stopped trembling.

“You were talking in your sleep again,” she told him, worry burning in her eyes. Arin hadn’t slept-talked since the previous year, when he talked so much Anireh threatened to toss him out onto the street. He had long since stopped asking what he said. Neither his parents nor Anireh understood the words that left his mouth each night. His mother sighed, wiping his sweat away with the sleeve of her shift. “You didn’t used to dream so much as a child. Nor did you sleep talk.” She took his face in her hands. “Tell me, what troubles you so, my love? What happened while you were away?”

He wanted to tell her. He wanted to be comforted by his mother and ignore the confusion that swept through him every time she touched him. Every time Anireh bickered with him. Every time his father tried to rope him into politics. It rattled him, expecting them to disappear right before his very eyes. But Arin couldn’t recall what happened during the time his family declared him missing, and then dead when he didn’t return. When he tried to remember, his head hurt and all he would see was a halo of golden light surrounded by darkness. How could he explain that?

His mother kissed his brow in his silence. “Rest easy, now.”

The words sounded familiar.

***

Arin walked the streets of his new hometown, grateful for the peace the night brought. He had tossed in his bed for hours before he gave up on sleeping for the night. He was restless, and he couldn’t understand the reason. It was the same the previous year after he reunited with his family.

He had to find out what happened to him, why he couldn’t remember so much of his life after age ten. Else, he feared he would live with half of himself gone forever.

***

It was on the eighth night of roaming the streets that Arin found himself walking the town’s graveyard. His mother would have flayed him had she known he was spending his time walking amongst the dead, but there was a comfort in it, he thought. It was quieter in the graveyard, and for a reason that Arin couldn’t understand, the dead brought him peace. He wasn’t so anxious about his past there. The guilt he felt for worrying his family vanished there.

It almost felt like home…

A voice cut through the silence, snapping Arin from his thoughts. His skin pebbled. His heart sped up. He could have been imagining it. He had been under much stress, and hadn’t been sleeping well. That was it. It was certainly not that the dead had come to life.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” said the voice softly, soothingly, almost as if they were speaking to a friend. “I know it’s been two years, but I’m still getting used to this.”

No one answered back. Anyone else would have run, but Arin reached for the largest rock he could find—a piece of a headstone that had crumbled to the ground—and gripped it tightly in his hand as he followed the voice that now hummed through the graveyard. He turned the corner of the mausoleum, stopping short when a golden halo light against the darkness filled his vision. His heart nearly leapt from his chest.

It wasn’t light that Arin saw. It was a girl with golden hair tied into an intricate, yet messy braid that his fingers itched to fix. Her back was to him and it was darker here than the rest of the graveyard, yet he could see that she wore a tunic, leggings, and a belt with a pouch and a rope hanging from it. She kneeled before a fresh grave, shoveling the dirt with her hands quickly.

When he looked closely, he could see that she wasn’t using her hands at all. Her arm was waving left and right, the dirt parting with the movement. His fear pooled into his belly, but he didn’t strike her. He found that he couldn’t even lift his trembling arm to do so.

He wanted to see her face.

She waved away the last bit of dirt with a huff. “There you are,” she said, pulling the rope from her belt. She leaned into the grave, then stood and wrapped the end of her rope around her waist. “Please forgive me for this, but it will be more comfortable this way. You’ll see.”

As she turned, Arin hid behind a large gravestone, but he peered around it to watch her. She had pulled the corpse from the grave. She frowned down at it.

“How rude that they didn’t dignify you with a proper burial or coffin.” She removed the rope from them. Then she stuck her hand inside the corpse’s chest. When she pulled it back out, she held a small, white shadow.“After all that you have done for them.” She tucked the shadow into her pocket, the body turning to ash with a flick of her wrist. “It’s all right, my friend. Rest easy, now.”

Arin’s breath caught in his throat. The rock fell from his hand with a thud. Her head shot up. Her eyes—so light brown they were nearly gold—widened at the sight of him. Her face paled. The realization struck him that standing before him was the god of death. But it could not be right. The legends always said the god of death had dark, dark hair and even darker eyes. Yet he couldn’t deny what he had seen.

He jumped back when she appeared before him instantly.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she said, pulling a chain from around her neck. Hanging from it was a vile of powder. He caught a glimpse of a black speck near the base of her thumb.

He stepped away from her, his back hitting another large gravestone. He kept his eyes trained on the birthmark on her hand that he knew was in the shaped of a star. He knew because he remembered. He remembered making a bargain with the god of death of his legends for the lives of his family. He remembered traveling the earth, following the dead to collect their souls and bring them peace for centuries. He remembered _her_ , the only one who had ever seen him when she wasn’t supposed to. He remembered avoiding her when she sought him out. He remembered giving up, and eventually taking time out of his duty to seek her out. He remembered her tricking him, saying his name three times to trade her life for his.

How she had found out about that long forgotten and forbidden secret, how she had learned his name, he didn’t know.

Her voice cracked as she said, “You will never have your time.” She blinked moisture from her eyes, dusting the powder in her palms. He knew what it was for, what she would do with it. He wouldn’t let her go this time.

Arin didn’t give her the chance to blow the powder in his face, to make him forget her again. He knew what he was doing when he gripped her wrist. He knew what it meant to touch—to be marked—by the god of death. And he was not afraid of it.

He smiled at her horror as he pulled her closer to him, his arms enveloping her. “Kestrel.”

He said her name just once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wanted to take a moment to thank you all for reading (if you're still here or even if maybe you gave up, thank you still)! 💕 i really hope you enjoyed it! 💕💕


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